


Aide de Camp et Corps

by theblindtorpedo



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Missing Scene, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slight Military Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25565407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theblindtorpedo/pseuds/theblindtorpedo
Summary: Tintin's adventure in South America was not quite what he imagined. However, he could not say he was opposed to this particular outcome.
Relationships: Alcazar/Tintin (Tintin)
Kudos: 18





	Aide de Camp et Corps

**Author's Note:**

> i read broken ear and i was like..... tintin uniform hhrnrhgnhgn. sometimes a boy just needs to be used by a man who doesn't care about him, I think. enjoy this shameless smut.

Tintin had already removed his jacket, the vibrant fabric (blue certainly was a charming color, he thought) smoothed with a confident palm and folded neatly, and was now halfway through removing his boots when there was a knock on his door. The uniformed officer on the other side balked at his half dressed figure.

“Pardon me Colonel I was not aware that the General would be meeting you in your quarters. I fear my message may be redundant.”

“What? No, as far as I am aware he has no intention of doing so. Hand over whatever message you have.”

“I . . . I came to inform you that it is likely your additional aide de camp . . . duties . . . are to begin tonight. The General has been in a more foul mood with these attempted assassinations and we thought it would be best if you went to go visit him.” 

The man was unusually furtive. Well, Tintin would just have to go find the General to see what this was all about. Much more useful to go to the source than to shake out a lackey who often did not know the extent of goings-on. He thanked the officer, clearly lifting a weight from the man’s shoulders as he sped off in relief. Tintin pulled his left shoe back on and grabbed the jacket to slip his arms in. He did not bother to close the garment, letting it hang loose to expose his white undershirt. He decided to forget the cap this time. Hopefully, this would be a short visit. If it was not, he was not inclined to stick to formality of dress when it was just the two of them and they were not at risk of being interrupted for a diplomatic meeting.

The guards at the General’s quarters nodded in acknowledgement at his approach, one opening the door to apparently introduce him, as he was waved in posthaste. Any doubts he had at his own appearance were swiftly assuaged as the General stood in plainclothes, stopped mid pace to take in his visitor.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he held a half smoked cigar in one hand and idly blew out his nose. “I knew you were a good choice.”

“What bothers you tonight, General?”

“The usual. Damned Tapioca.” He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, knees spread and beckoned Tintin over. Tintin watched those dark eyes, hard pinpoints, rove over his body as a wide sneer split the General’s face.

“I require a distraction.”

“Another game of chess?”

“I think you know what I am asking of you, boy.”

Boy. The word rolled roughly off the General’s tongue, a wave washing uncertainty into clarity, a boulder that bowled Tintin over pinning him to the ground. The cigar was laid aside and the General extended the same hand and placed it against Tintin’s stomach. The journalist became acutely aware of how thin the undershirt fabric was, the heat of the older man’s palm seeping past, igniting a fire that coursed through him from toe to tip.

“Are you prepared to commence with your duties?” The General asked.

Tintin huffed, his pride spilling forward over his reason that screamed to be wary of the attentions of a powerful man. “I am always prepared.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” The General laughed and then his hand fisted in the fabric, yanking Tintin down into his lap and lips were on his, punishingly demanding. Tintin gasped and the General took advantage of the breach in defenses to explore his mouth, mapping it out as surely as a battle plan, tracing the cliff faces of his cheeks and the valley where his tongue waited to be coaxed to action. For minutes there was only the wet sounds of mouths meeting and tongues slipping against each other. When was the last time he had done this? Tintin cannot remember. Certainly before he became a field reporter. And never with a man like this, only misguided fumblings at school stained with naivete and inexperience. This was different: this man wanted without impunity, wanted to have him, to  _ use _ him. The journalist was heady with excitement. As their kissing became more vigorous, his hands flew up to steady himself on the General’s broad shoulders which leaned down, pressing urgent with need, until Tintin was bent backwards at a frankly uncomfortable angle. He squirmed to center himself and the General groaned at the grind of matching hardness, before rolling them over onto the bed. Tintin propped himself up on his elbows and licked his lips expectantly.

“You’re more eager than the last one.” The General groped at the bulge in Tintin’s uniform eliciting a wanton thrust of hips. “I knew you’d be like this, as soon as I saw you.” He sat back on his haunches, fiddling to undo his own belt. “Take off your clothes.”

The General watched as Tintin divested himself of the uniform. There was a vulnerability in being the only one unclothed. He knew he could not give any directive or orders, at risk of angering the hot-blooded man, and he would much rather that passion be targeted somewhere else. Instead, once bared naked, he crawled on all fours to position his ass for the General’s enticement. The General whistled in appreciation and draped himself over Tintin’s back, hardness pressing into the cleft between his cheeks, and a haired arm and hand snaking to rub over hardened nipples. Tintin found his victorious smirk morph into an unsteady, traitorous moan.

“You looked so good in the uniform, such a treat I wanted to unwrap you right away, but you are even better like this.” The words are muttered into his shoulder, before being replaced by a smattering of unexpectedly soft kisses. Tintin sighed appreciatively, to the General’s chagrin, as lips were replaced quickly with a rip of teeth that would likely leave a mottled mark. The bite sent a jolt straight to the younger man’s cock, now fully hard with anticipation, and bobbing against his thigh. In need of stimulation he went to grasp himself only to be thwarted by a hard shove between shoulder blades that sent him collapsing against the mattress, cock trapped and unattended. The General dropped a knee atop the small of Tintin’s back.

“I think you are forgetting the chain of command here, Colonel. What is the main function of an aide de camp?“ The voice was low and threatening. 

Tintin’s brain, foggy with lust, found the question difficult to parse as he was overwhelmed by the demands of his neglected member. Still, he made a valiant attempt, never to be called a coward: “An aide-ah -aide de camp’s function is to assist-”

“To serve!” the General corrected, sending a sharp smack to the journalist’s backside. Tintin sobbed into the pillow.

“To serve,” the General repeated, lifting the knee and Tintin knew he could resist now, could supplex the General in an instant despite their size difference, but his body ached not for the security of a fight. He desired to reach a peak only the other man could take him to. It stung, this need for another so rare to be almost unrecognizable, an emotion he spent so much of his time running from. Yet, here in South America, oceans away from Belgium, here he was not Tintin the journalist, he was the Colonel, the aide de camp to General Alcazar, he was the man whose job was to give his mind by day and to give his body at night.

There was the rustle of the General’s clothing being removed and then hands pushing his legs together, thumbs tucked into the area underneath his sack until they were replaced by the press of a cock. The General slipped between Tintin’s thighs with a grunt and wasted no time starting to thrust. There was no direct stimulation, but Tintin whimpered nonetheless. The minor friction of his cock and nipples on the sheets was not enough, but the sensation of being used so selfishly, body reduced to a mere flesh sleeve, and the throb of the cock so close to his own made his head spin. The General’s pace quickly became brutal in seeking his own completion, and the bed shook in protest, until the General’s hips stuttered, and he let out a roar in Spanish. Tintin gasped at the sticky wetness coating his raw skin.

The General rolled off to his side and pushed Tintin to face him. Satisfied heavy breathing stirred the edges of the older man’s moustache as he reviewed the debauched state of his partner: flushed down his hairless chest, leaking precum against pale stomach, and an angry red stripe against milky thigh where he had been taken without lubrication. Tintin let his hand drift, pointedly ignoring his own aching prick, to run his hand through the white pool of the General’s climax and collect it with his fingers. He brought it up to his lips, locking eyes as he swirled his tongue to lap up the thick spunk. Suddenly, he was seized, kissed possessively and then, finally, blessedly, there was a hand between the journalist’s legs and he could not contain the string of moans ripped from him as he was pleasured until he shook and spilled into the General’s fist. Their aggressive kiss lightened until it was just the press of closed lips, but they did not part until Tintin had completely spent and melted back into the bed.

He blinked lazily post-coitus, as if the world was brand-new. The General met his eyes and stroked Tintin’s cheek, surprisingly gentle, before slapping his hip.

“See you tomorrow bright and early, amigo.”

The instruction was clear and Tintin slid off the bed to collect his clothing, pulling it on with even less finesse than he had earlier that evening at the unexpected summons. Done up to minimal decency, Tintin saluted, grinned, and exited.

He hummed merrily as he tread back to his sleeping quarters. It may not have been of his own choosing, but this new job wasn’t so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope this wasn't too bad, it's been a while since I've written Just A Sex Scene, haha.
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](www.augustinremi.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](www.twitter.com/seccotines).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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